


Vishram

by avani



Series: The Vilomita 'Verse [4]
Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coda, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-10-01 15:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: Sivagami has never been satisfied.





	Vishram

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ratna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratna/gifts).



Something flows fast and bright in Sivagami’s blood, something that sets her apart from all others. Always she has known this, constant as a toothache in the back of her consciousness. She thinks ever of  _ more, more, more  _ and  _ better, better, better _ , and even the disappointment of her marriage is not even to cure her. Still she dreams of dragging Mahishmati with her into the sunlight, of wresting power away from unworthy hands.

Her confidence does not survive Martand—or rather, her cockiness in assuming she could outdo him, that her faithless spouse will not turn on her. She pays for it in twenty-five years of her life,  spent alone in far-off countries conducting a shadow war with Martand; his hold on the kingdom will never be secure, not when she sabotages all treaties and trade negotiations that he tries to make, and without it, and the ill-will it breeds among the commoners, the rightful King would never have won the support he needed to retake the throne. Sivagami knows this, even when others do not, but it calms the fire within her only momentarily:  _ not enough, not enough, not nearly enough. _

And then the doctors confirm her diagnosis, and Sivagami gauges that it might be time to return home at last, to plug her ears to the impulses that urge her on, and find a quiet corner in which to rest and be forgotten.

That is what she expects. The reality, however? The reality is quite unlike.

*

It is Devasena who disturbs her earliest in the morning, come to her with another of her questions. They have nothing to do with any concerns about the practical aspects of pregnancy, Devasena having quickly determined that she did not suffer from any of the debilitating effects of that state. They are rather more….urgent.

“Mahendra?” Devasena offers, half-hesitantly, and then, “Madan? Madhusudan, Manohar, Mohan?”

At this point, Sivagami begins to suspect Devasena is listing names at random, rather than any particular liking. “It occurs to me,” she says dryly, “that this should have be a decision long since made.” The baby—which might safely make an appearance any day now—has yet to be called anything other than “the baby.” At times, allowances can be made as to gender, but this is rapidly becoming ridiculous.

Devasena makes a face. “And so it would have been,” she says, “were my husband not so convinced the child will be a girl that he leaves the decision entirely to me. No more does the child cooperate—“ She puts a hand to her stomach and winces. “He only protests if it’s a name he truly doesn’t care for.”

That seems….unlikely, but mothers are allowed a little madness. “In time, you’ll know,” Sivagami promises as she sends her away.

*

The physician visits next, and not alone. Sivagami has asked, time and again, for privacy during these encounters; but Bhalla never remembers this and likely wouldn’t care even if he did. That single-mindedness is a trait he inherits directly from her, if much less subtly than she might display it, and so she ignores his presence placidly.

The physician, however, is not so fortunate. He sweats as Bhalla leans against a wall, glowering; he swallows as Bhalla’s eyes narrow as Sivagami’s pulse is checked. He looms like a shadow until the physician stammers that all is unchanged and excuses himself—and only then does Sivagami speak.

“I do hope,” she says disinterestedly, “that you don’t frighten this one off as well. The last man still refuses to so much as speak to me.”

Bhalla grunts. Sivagami interprets this as grudging acquiescence.

“I’ll hold my tongue,” he snaps, “if you can contrive to have the King hold his. If I must listen to another recital of ways women might die in childbed, I can’t be held responsible for what I do.”

“He’s young,” Sivagami points out, “and worries.”

“No one  _ asked _ him to have a child,” Bhalla retorts, sounding every bit as young himself. Has she really grown so old, to see her kingdom in such hands?

“In time, it’ll improve,” Sivagami promises and sends him away.

*

Then Sivagami must turn her attention to matters of state. She might plead exhaustion that keeps her from Court, but that is only an excuse. Sivagami has no stomach to visit the site of her previous defeat, even now, and the young King has never asked it of her.

Instead her efforts for her country are conducted through correspondence. Her friends in high places, scattered around the world, remember her yet, and trust her word; just as she once methodically undid Mahishmati’s prosperity, now she rebuilds it with painstaking care.

Her work does not go unnoticed. By noon the King always comes to her in order to express his thanks, and indulge his curiosity as to what she plans next. She enjoys these conversations; he is a clever boy, quick to grasp her implications, and conscientious. He surpasses each and every one of the prayers she made from exile.

Nevertheless, even at her most unguarded, she can only call him Amarendra, that name selected by the woman who bore him, though she knows he doesn’t care for it. She might have bestowed his second name upon him, but she is no longer that woman who held him on his birth; that belongs to another world.

This does not stop him from asking her to call him “Baahu,” each and every day. Foolish not to, he argues, not when all formality between them has been eroded by the fourth time she had to reassure him that a touch of dizziness in a pregnant woman was only to be expected, rather than a sign of imminent disaster. Sivagami understands this, but—

“In time, I shall,” Sivagami demurs, as always, and sends him away.

*

Only later does she summon the second physician she employs, the one personally recommended by the Queen of Kuntala. As such, the physician is tart as to be expected, but also truthful, and when Sivagami asks how much time she has remaining, the physician laughs.

“Why, O Queen,” she asks, “are you so determined to meet your end? Your ailment is serious indeed, but not so severe that nothing can be done for it.”

“I know this,” Sivagami replies, stung. “I hardly expect to drop dead this very instant. I have every hope of seeing the throne secured.”

“And to see another royal child  born, and perhaps a third. Your understanding of your ailment may be somewhat….exaggerated.”

Sivagami recoils. How can this be? The only possible excuse for her self-indulgence and lack of industry is her illness, and to have it taken from her is a terrifying thought. Her blood sings anew, sharp and impatient with her laziness.

“You’re wrong. In time, you’ll see,” she tells the physician harshly, and sends her away.

*

Kattappa can reliably be found in the armory, now that the King has forbidden him from taking up his old quarters once he’d seen how small and squalid they were. Kattappa’s new ones, however, are almost too grand for comfort, especially after years of confinement, and he shies away from them. At least amongst the weapons he knows, he has told her, he feels himself at home.

Sivagami settles down beside him, struck suddenly by fellow-feeling. Both their lives had been cut short too soon, and now they find themselves of little use to anyone. At least they have each other, Sivagami thinks, and cannot suppress a bitter chuckle.

“My lady?” Kattappa peers at her anxiously, and Sivagami shakes her head. 

“What a pair of old fools we make,” she says. “Left behind by the world.

He does not agree, much to her surprise. Rather he considers carefully before saying: “Old, certainly, my lady; and my wits may wander though yours never well; but this I can never believe—that the world has nothing left to offer.”

“Infirmity? And other indignities?”

“Hope,” replies Kattappa, “and new life.”

Sivagami wants to disagree, but Kattappa spends twenty-five years trapped in a cage with only the promise that she would send someone to free him. When it comes to a question of hope, he must surely be the authority, but—

“The Queen has been brought to childbed!” calls a guard, panting, and Sivagami and Kattappa rise as one.

*

They are just in time. Amarendra—she cannot think of him as King now, not when he is a wild-eyed boy with a thousand protests—corners her at once.

It had happened very suddenly, almost too much so, he babbles; one instant Devasena had been entirely herself and the next, she had calmly asked that the midwife be brought before her. His parents aren’t present, although messengers had been sent to fetch them, and he doubts they’ll make it up either river or tunnel in time. Worst of all, none of the servants will let him through to Devasena, no matter how he insists—and in truth, that seems to bother him more than the rest combined.

Sivagami considers. Surely Amarendra must have witnessed and assisted with as many animal births as any other village-bred child—but any knowledge he might possess is dulled by panic.

Gently, she murmurs, “I think not,” and he offers no objection.

Instead he only settles to the floor at her feet, not unlike a child seeking comfort from his mother in the only way he knows how, and pleads: “Then will you stay with me?”

Sivagami’s hand, almost of its own volition, moves to rest on his dark head. “Of course,” she whispers. “Of course.”

*

What seems an eternity later, but must only be the space of a few hours, the door to the royal chambers opens and the midwife emerges, beaming. Amarendra charges forward at once, and while Sivagami follows, Kattappa and Bhalla  remain behind.

“At last it’s over,” is all Bhalla grumbles, before he returns to looking studiously unconcerned as though he hadn’t waited the night through with the rest of them; and Kattappa only waves her on ahead.

Devasena, when they enter, is sitting up and looks no worse for the wear; but somehow her hands do not yet hold her child, although her eyes watch the boy—ah!—longingly.

For an instant Sivagami is confused, and then she remembers the Kuntalan custom. “Will you really wait until the River-chief and his wife arrive? It seems impractical.” A baby not held by his parents for two or three days: disgraceful. Surely the gods of Kuntala must understand.

But Devasena smiles. “I see no need to. You are here, are you not?” She nods to the midwife before Sivagami can entirely understand her, and all too soon, Sivagami has a sweet-smelling infant deposited into her arms.

It is as though the last terrible twenty-five years never happened at all, save that this time, the need to mourn the baby’s mother is spared her. Devasena adds: “He is still in need of a name, as you know.”

Sivagami twists to look over her shoulder; but Devasena and her husband and smiling, eyes soft.

The baby gurgles, drawing her attention back to him once more, and gingerly, she offers him her finger to grasp. The grip is every bit as strong as she recalls, and she murmurs: “Baahubali.” Remembering Devasena’s first hesitant suggestion, she amends, “Mahendra Baahubali.”

The baby’s hold on her does not falter, and she might swear he coos at her with delight. There he is, perfect and prayed for, the promised future worth living for. She will see him become the King he ought to be, she swears, and love him without guilt or grief, as she has loved no other. She relinquishes him into his mother’s arms, soon to be followed by his father’s; his hold on her finger might loosen, but that on her heart stays firm. Always, she already knows, it will be so.

For the first time in her life, desperation in her blood slows into cool contentment, and Sivagami blesses every god she knows for it.

**Author's Note:**

> For Ratna, who wanted post-canon Vilomita fluff with exasperated Sivagami and Bhalla, as well as Mahendra’s birth in this AU. This also allowed me to tie all those last few ends together for this verse, so I really have to thank her for it. Other notes:  
> *Vishram- rest  
> * Devasena’s recital of names is of course the chorus of “Kanna Nee Thoongada”—in my head, she realizes about halfway through what she’s doing and is horrified at how desperate for a name for a child she’s become. In fairness, I headcanon canon! Devasena as being far more defiant in naming her son after her husband, but this version cares a bit more for Sivagami’s opinion, which is why she’s more hesitant.  
> *For everyone concerned about Sivagami’s canonical illness, I chose to leave it ambiguous still, so that the reader can soften it as they please.  
> * Yes, the Kuntalan custom is for the _grandfather_ , but I want to handwave, largely because in a series built on reversals, what better one than Sivagami finding peace by blessing her grandson?


End file.
